Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel (7 page)

“No, sir! ’Twas on Toronto Island.”

“Aw, not a chance!” The interchange was becoming heated.

The small man pushed his glasses farther up on his nose and turned to Beth. “You seen any ballgames, miss?”

Beth blushed and the room grew quiet. “My father felt it was not a suitable place for a young lady.”

“What’d you do for pleasure, then?” he rejoined, looking startled.

“Well, we enjoyed the symphony, museums, and sometimes theater. We periodically attended lectures as well—but mostly I enjoy reading.” As she spoke of the fine things she had left behind, the reminder brought a cloud of nostalgia.

“Reading? Well, that’s not very friendly.” Walter grinned toward the others. Beth smiled weakly and let the conversation proceed without her.

As soon as the meal had ended and she could move unnoticed, she slipped out the door and fled into the kitchen. “Please, Miss Molly, I’d really rather help in here.”

“Then help you may,” said the woman and tossed a dish towel toward Beth, pointing at the stack of dishes already washed and waiting to be dried and put away. Beth sighed in relief.

B
ETH
WOKE
AT
THE
SOUND
of a thump in the hallway, followed by footsteps moving away from her door. She crept from her bed and quietly drew the door open. There before her was a pail of fresh water, presumably so she could wash before dressing. She peered into the hallway in time to see Teddy setting another bucket outside one of the doors farther down the hall. She lifted the bucket inside and closed the door again softly.

There was a room for bathing off the kitchen, with an oversized galvanized tub, but Beth was doubtful she would often have the courage to request that it be filled for her benefit, considering how many buckets it would take. Instead, she washed up as thoroughly as she could, already hearing the sounds of machinery in the distance. She wondered how soon she would be able to tune out the incessant mine noise. Dressing again in the borrowed clothing, she sat on the bedside and silently recited a favorite Psalm and prayed.
Another item I’m
going to miss is my Bible.
How many further items would
come to mind during the next days . . . weeks? She shook her head and hurried down to the kitchen.

Molly was just beginning to fix breakfast, and Beth alternated between trying to help with preparations and avoiding getting in the heavyset woman’s path. After hearing Molly huff more than once as they attempted to work around each other, Beth determined she would be less of an obstacle when setting the table in the dining room. It seemed a happy compromise until Molly entered with a heaping dish and placed it in the center.

She looked around the table. “How come you got so many forks?”

Beth blinked. “It’s only two for each. I thought we needed one for the fruit and one for the eggs and bacon—”

“Only got one mouth,” Molly tossed over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen. “Take them extras off. Saves washin’ up.”

As Beth picked up the superfluous tableware and replaced it in its drawer in the sideboard, Molly brought in the plate of fruit. “And why’s there jes’ five plates?” she asked, hands on hips as she surveyed the settings. “Where’s yours?”

“I thought I’d help in there.” Beth gestured toward the kitchen.

“You gotta eat.”

Beth lifted pleading eyes to Molly. “I’d rather not have to be the only . . . only female eating with the men.”

The older woman paused, cast a thoughtful look toward Beth, and reached over to cup her face in work-hardened hands. The intensity held Beth fast as Molly said, “Those men are your kinda folk, dearie. Now, I’m not sayin’ you rich folk’re all the same—any more than all us poor. And maybe I’m selfish to ask—but if you could jes’ make friends with
them, jes’ maybe you could help them understand our needs. Maybe you could speak to them sometimes on our behalf. Lord knows, they be too high-an’-mighty to hear what the likes of us has got to say.”

Beth wanted to please her hostess. She wished it were not so difficult—
If only Julie could be here . . .
But Julie was not, and making conversation did not come naturally to her.

In the end she submitted to Molly’s bidding and joined the company men in the dining room, doing her best to present a charming and clever façade. Molly smiled encouragingly toward Beth each time the woman crossed through the room.

Once breakfast had ended and dishes were done, Marnie walked with Beth over to the pool hall. She wanted to assess what preparations could be made for school. Her first task was to throw open the windows to let in fresh air. Marnie quickly caught on and helped open up the room. Beth feared the mustiness and stale smell from years of tobacco smoke would give her a headache.

With sunlight and a breeze filtering through the room, she turned and studied her surroundings. She quickly noted, however, that the open windows also increased the sound of the mine equipment grinding away in the distance, along with the periodic screech of engine brakes and sundry other sounds of the community. Beth hoped the students had grown so accustomed to it all that the noise would not be a distraction, for she was altogether unwilling to close it all up again. She found herself whispering once more, “It’s only for one year.” Yet Beth worried that it would prove to be a very long year.

True to her promise, Frances had made sure the blackboard was hung from hooks in front of the now-empty liquor cabinet. Beth wondered if she should laugh or despair at the thought of teaching before such a testimonial to intemperance.
What would
Mother’s ladies group have to say about this?
Beth determined she would include this interesting tidbit in her next letter. After all, she had no way to change the situation and there must be
something
she was willing to share honestly.

Beth decided it was best to pretend the cabinet was simply an ordinary cupboard. There was nothing to be gained by making an issue of it. She only hoped the tavern did not store liquor elsewhere. She had heard that some of the company men frequented the establishment in the evenings.
Surely there will be no temperance laws
broken in the very room in which we hold school!
But maybe that was naïve.

The round oak dining tables would make for awkward desks, but there appeared to be no alternative. And having no idea how many students would be enrolled or the span of ages, Beth tried to prepare herself for all possibilities. Then it occurred to her that the quiet young girl sitting on the bench near the door might be a source of some information.

“Marnie, how many students attended your last school?” she asked in her most pleasant teacher’s voice.

“Don’t know, Miss Thatcher.”

“You don’t remember?” Beth drew closer in order to better see the girl’s face.

“No, miss. Don’t know. Me and Teddy Boy, we didn’t go to school.”

“You didn’t attend? Why not, Marnie?”

She shrugged self-consciously, turning her face away. “Our daddy, well, he didn’t make us. Said it wasn’t gonna help us none.”

Beth sank down next to Marnie on the bench where the girl sat picking at her fingernails.

“Your father didn’t believe in education?”

“Guess not. Not for us, anyhow.” She hurried to explain,
“’Cause we’re a minin’ town. Don’t need to spell to work the mines.”

Beth held her breath. She would not say anything against the father that Marnie so recently lost, and yet she must elevate Marnie’s view of herself and her right to schooling. Beth leaned a little closer. “Will you come to
my
school, Marnie?”

A slow smile broke out across the girl’s face. “Can I? You mean I ain’t too old? I’m thirteen, ya know.”

“It would be awfully nice to already have a friend among my students. And since you’re an older one, you can help me a lot, I know.”

“Yes,” she whispered guardedly. “Yes, I’ll come. That is, if Miss Molly lets me, I will.”

“Oh,” Beth said with a grin, “I suspect she’ll allow it.”

Though Beth had spent much of the previous day preparing plans for how she would begin and what she would teach, the school day opened in some commotion. Several of the mothers had arrived on time with their children in tow, but it was immediately clear that the youngsters had been brought against their will. The building itself, even in so tiny a village, was unfamiliar—had been strictly off-limits before today. Some of the smaller children were crying and clinging, and their mothers lingered with them near the back of the room.

Beth stood at the front of the classroom, looking helplessly around, and then saw Molly appear in the doorway along with Frances. Beth had never been so relieved to see someone. If ever she’d felt the need for assistance and counsel, now was the time.

The two nodded greetings to the women gathered at the
back, then crossed the room to Beth. “Havin’ a bit of trouble gettin’ things settled down?” Molly whispered.

“Can I talk with you a minute?” Beth whispered back.

Molly merely nodded and placed a hand behind Beth’s arm to lead her aside. “What’s the matter, dearie?”

“Well, I’m not sure how to begin the school day. Back home, we—they always begin the morning lessons with a salute to the flag and the Lord’s Prayer.”

“Yes?”

“Well, for one thing—we don’t have a flag.”

Molly winked. “We can work on that. For now, just have ’em practice.”

Beth cleared her throat. “And then—I was wondering, is the prayer—well, is it appropriate here?”

Beth couldn’t read all the emotions that flashed through Molly’s eyes. When the woman found words they were firm. “We ain’t aimin’ to raise us up any heathens, dearie.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know ya ain’t familiar with our ways,” Molly said gently. “You get out there an’ get ’em started. Some of them kids will already know the Lord’s Prayer, and they may as well learn yer pledge too. That’s jest part of bein’ civilized. Go on now.” Beth felt a pat of encouragement on her shoulder as she returned to her place at the front of the improvised classroom.

Molly and Frances stood on one side, looking over the group, and their presence seemed to signal quiet and respect.

“I am Miss Thatcher,” Beth began, turning to print her name on the blackboard. “Please stand beside a seat at the tables here,” she said, gesturing along with her instruction. “We’ll begin our day with the Lord’s Prayer. If you don’t already know it, you’ll soon learn the words,” she told them.
It looked like the children had grouped themselves rather naturally by age.

She noticed many voices joining hers as she recited the prayer. Next Beth asked her students to recite a pledge to the Union Jack. Here fewer children knew what to say, but with a little coaching, Beth helped them repeat with her, “I salute the flag—the emblem of my country—and to her I pledge my love and loyalty.” It seemed incongruous with no flag displayed, but Beth seemed to be the only one troubled by the fact. “Please take your seats.”

Beth noted the mothers slipping from the room, no doubt returning to a day full of the duties required simply to feed and clothe their families. Molly and Frances followed them out, smiling broadly toward Beth before departing.

She drew back her shoulders and set herself to presenting an appropriate disposition before her students—friendly yet strict, kind yet commanding, even though the room itself, the tables lit only by whatever light came in through the open windows, and all the outside noises, seemed to work against her. From time to time, usually just as Beth was calling for everyone’s attention for another assignment, the hinges on the exterior door would announce the arrival of a new family, and all would turn to the doorway to see who would appear. Soon there were twenty-three students, from six to sixteen, randomly spread out before her. Beth struggled just to make eye contact with everyone scattered around. In order to keep each student’s attention she had to wander the room in circles, weaving among the tables.
This will never do.

Just as Beth was about to dismiss the students for lunch, a long whistle blast sounded from the direction of the mine. She had noticed the piercing noise the previous day at what seemed to be random times, but Beth now thought it must
indicate the workers’ breaks or changes of shifts. Apparently the sound would serve as a signal for school lunchtime as well. Clearly her students were attuned to it, rousing in attention as the whistle called to them through the window.

Because of the close proximity to the students’ homes, the room emptied quickly, and Beth was left alone. Instantly her mind began to grapple for solutions to the immediate problems. It was simply imperative that she be able to address directly the students to whom she was aiming a lesson. During that time it was not as necessary for those particular students to sit at the tables, since some by turns would be working at the chalkboard.

It took all Beth’s strength and determination to push and drag the most central of the heavy pedestal tables from the middle of the room and fill the open area with unused chairs. This provided a small cluster of seats near the front and a circle of tables surrounding them. In her busyness, she almost forgot to eat the sandwich and apple Molly had provided. She ate hurriedly now, hoping that the students wouldn’t return before she had finished.

The thirty minutes she had expected them to take for lunch passed by without a sound in the hallway. Then forty—forty-five. As each minute ticked past, Beth was slowly resigning herself to her worst fears.
The students are
not going to return for the afternoon.
Sinking into one of the empty chairs, she crossed her arms on the cool tabletop and dropped her head onto them in defeat, refusing to allow any tears.

At last, when a full hour had passed, a second whistle pierced the silence and, almost simultaneously, footsteps and voices filled the hallway as the children crowded in together.
An hour
, Beth chided herself.
They
take an hour for lunch—just as the miners do
. I wish one of them had thought to tell me
.
A deep breath, and she was back to work.